Compelling
by Chronos Astral
Summary: What was it about that woman? Viola often asked herself that question. So did Kinzie. FemBossxViola FemBossxKinzie Mentions of FemBossxShaundi. M for swearing and possible sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Saints Row: The Third

_**"Compelling"  
><strong>by Chronos Astral_

_**Chapter 1**_

* * *

><p>If there was any advice Viola would take from the Boss among all of the ridiculousness that spewed from her mouth, it would be this: Showing a little skin could get you anything in this city.<p>

Granted, Viola DeWynter was a woman of some dignity; she wasn't one to resort to such a lowly tactic that only pandered to the slutty stereotype label that she'd been trying to avoid her entire life. Yes, she wore a skintight turtleneck ensemble that showed off her generous curves. Yes, many a head would turn her way to appraise her very apparent assets. Yes, she was once in charge of a prostitution ring. That did not at all mean she intended herself to seem promiscuous, and she would deny any such claims. She found turtlenecks to be stylish, is all. Was it her fault that they accentuated her breasts?

Onto the point being made, it was a simple thing to get into the patient records of Image As Designed. Where bribery failed, a little feminine charm had a stuttering, red-faced intern that had been manning the counter at the time to acquiesce to her small favor. Not one of her proudest moments, but her once staggering power within the highest ranks of the Syndicate held little sway now that they were all but decimated by the Saints, so she had to resort to one shamefully effective tactic proposed by the Boss herself. It was only so ironic that same advice was being employed in order to do some digging on the elusive Boss of the 3rd Street Saints.

It didn't take long to discover the file of said gang leader amongst the patient documents, an image of her profile printed next to that of the STAG unit leader, Cyrus Temple, with humorously simplistic captions of "Before" and "After" on each image respectively. As printed, the patient name was 'Martha Fuckin Washington' (Viola would have considered this an alias if it weren't such blatant horseshit and couldn't resist rolling her eyes at the entry), with details on the nature of the operation and the intended result: to look and sound exactly like the STAG commander. This was amongst the woman's most recent operations in the facility, followed closely by another operation to undo the former. Previous records indicate more minor operations, ranging from changes in natural hair, eye color, and/or skin color , changes to her voice box (apparently, she once gave herself a Russian accent), amongst others (a breast _reduction_).

Sifting through each paper meticulously, Viola found little to no evidence that confirmed any of her suspicions. There have been no indications of drug abuse, no major alterations to the Boss's physical structure barring that of her aforementioned guise of Cyrus Temple, and not even any lasting scarring or signs of injury from the _multitudes_ of otherwise lethal stunts she just so enjoyed to partake in. No matter how resilient a human being, nobody should be able to dive from a plane going at about 600 mph and practically _jetison_ themselves onto the hull of another plane going at about the same velocity without effectively _breaking every bone in their body_. And yet, the Boss manages not only to do just that, but to infiltrate the plane and fuck shit up as per her modus operandi, and skydive from falling tank to another falling tank as she descends from an altitude of about 30,000 feet. When she finally hits the ground with only the equivalent of a giant metal box to cushion her fall, she comes home unscathed and with the smuggest grin on her face. She might not have as good a grasp of physics as she did with economics, but even Viola knew for a fact that any living being composed of flesh and bones would have been reduced to a bloody _pancake_ after such an experience.

Therein lies the question: _What the fuck?_ Who wouldn't die from that? Who in their right state of mind would even _think_ of doing that? It was ludicrous, ridiculous, _insane_! – … and yet, compelling.

Viola DeWynter would deny that she was in any way curious about this mysterious and undoubtedly less-than-mentally stable leader of the 3rd Street Saints, thought that didn't make it any less true. How was it that she was so capable of these feats that were above and beyond the capacity of any living animal on this earth? -Surviving armed skirmishes against a paramilitary organization, wrestling with an internationally renowned luchador known for blatantly cheating and about twice her size, acting very nonchalant in the threat of a _zombie _apocalypse, participating in the game-show equivalent of a gladiator ring, driving top-down with a _goddamned tiger_ in the passenger seat. How was it that she convinced hundreds of men and women to her cause so easily? – To take the purple mantle of the Saints and to (with only minimal protest among her closest followers) be at her beck and call? Hers was a natural charisma borne from an otherwise violent, sometimes unreasonable, and highly ambitious mind. Hers was a spirit and energy unmatched by even the greatest athletes.

What was it then that made the Boss tick? What was it that made her so strong and charismatic? Ever since the debacle with STAG and their attempt to kill Viola, Shaundi, and the mayor, these questions have nagged at the former for the better part of her time with the Saints. Even now that she was a (semi-)trusted member among their ranks, only she seemed to be the one to question how it was that their leader was so frighteningly extraordinary.

Unfortunately, her search has proven fruitless so far. Perhaps it was time to resort to other-

"Excuse me-"

Viola raises her gun in alarm, aimed towards the source of the voice.

The janitor drops his broom in response, his arms raised . "I-I was just going to ask if you were done with the place so I could clean up! Please don't kill me!"

"... Fine. I'm done here," she remarks with a sigh, lowering her gun and tucking the folder into her arms. The woman struts over to the door, giving the janitor one last look and a wave of her gun. "I wasn't here. Understand?"

He nods vigorously and stutters a reply: "Y-yeah. Didn't see a thing!"

With a satisfied nod, Viola holsters her pistol and walks off without another word.

* * *

><p>"Give it to me straight, my man."<p>

Pierce looks up from today's newspaper, his thoughts on how the new "Gangstas in Space" movie ad mysteriously put in a few pounds to him while in his space suit, to meet with the pimped-out sunglasses of the Saints' personal prostitution ring leader. It was a slow day for the Saints, what with the remnants of dead gangs a minor issue, STAG out of the picture, and the filming of the movie done and in post-production, the higher-ups had little to do, perhaps with the exception of Shaundi who was out to endorse their movie. "What's up, Zimos?"

The pimp sits back on the plush sofa as if contemplating how to word his question, tapping his tell-tale pimp-cane/microphone to his chin, speaking in his mechanical, auto-tuned voice. "Does the Boss swing for the other team? Y'know... she a rug muncher?"

"You mean is she a lesbian?" Pierce replies nonchalantly, turning the page to the entertainment section and finding a stylized cartoon comic depiction of the Saints. When did he approve of that? There were some royalties to be made from that! "Does a bear shit in the woods?"

"How do you figure?" asks Zimos, leaning on his knees now in unconcealed interest.

"You mean apart from the strippers and the hos?" Pierce starts, a smug grin on his face as he puts down the paper. "Shaundi got drunk one night and invited the Boss over. The rest, you can figure for yourself."

"Oh hell, man," The pimp couldn't help a distorted laugh. "You ain't sayin' she and her...?"

"Got the video tape to prove it."

"Get out of here, motherfucker."

"I'm serious! The best part is that Shaundi was so shit-faced, she was the one that done and recorded it herself."

"No shit?"

It was then that Viola had chosen to interrupt sauntering in from the penthouse elevator, the tell-tale clack of her expensive high-heels alerting the two men. "Forgive me for interrupting your 'important discussion', gentlemen."

Zimos turned to tip his hat to her from over the sofa. "Hey there, baby girl."

"Don't fucking call me that," she sneers in return.

"Shit, girl. Still sore about that time?" Because, really, was it his fault that he did the nasty with one of them and he couldn't tell which one of them it was?

Viola gives the pimp a scathing glare that promptly quiets him, (because, _yes_, it _is_ his fault) now turning her attention towards Pierce. "Boss called me. She around?"

"Yeah. She's around back in the bedroom." He quirks a brow, curious. "What'd she call you for?"

"Beats me." she shrugs, though Viola dreads that the Boss might have gotten wind of her snooping around.

"Aww, hell..." Zimos's modulated timbre pipes in at the Saints lieutenant, a mischievous pitch to it in spite of the machinated tone. "You don't think the boss wants some o' that sweet DeWynter ass now, do ya?"

"Wouldn't be the first time Boss got a call girl over," Pierce chuckles. "-...or Shaundi."

Viola made a face, an exhasperated sigh passing between her glossy lips. "Grow up, both of you," she says before retreating towards the penthouse bedroom, shaking her head in disgust all the while Pierce just wolf whistles tauntingly in her direction.

"... So," Zimos looks to Pierce. "-about that video..."

Pierce grins, steepling his fingers. "What's your offer?"

* * *

><p>Truthfully, Viola had been somewhat hesitant to answer the summons when she'd gotten the call from the Boss some number of hours after she'd just been attempting to gather intelligence on her. Granted, it wasn't as if it were full-on espionage on her part – a curious whim, one could argue, albeit one that involved threatening a hapless custodial worker at gunpoint, but that was slightly unintentional. If she were completely honest, Viola would admit that she was genuinely afraid to incur the wrath of the Boss, knowing that the Saints leader's preferred form of retribution often involved a hail of bullets and all manner of things either exploding or combusting into a firey inferno. Now, Viola wasn't cut from whatever alloy the Boss was, ergo, like any <em>normal<em> human being, liberal application of any aforementioned bullets and explosions upon her person would result in a gruesome, painful death for her and about fifty other unfortunates caught in ground zero. Simply speaking, not a good scenario.

Of course, an alternative brews in her mind, one brought to life by the discussion and suggestion that the two men had, which she promptly quashes and sweeps into the back of her mind. An utterly ridiculous notion to even believe that the Boss called her over just to have sex. Viola didn't doubt she was attractive, and more than once did she catch the attention of those of even the same sex, but really? She might admit to being curious in the past and _maybe_ experimenting a little (more than just a little) with the same sex. As far as that went, she deemed it as simply a passing fancy, though she wouldn't say that she didn't actually enj- Why was she even thinking about this?

Vigorously, she shakes her head to clear it of her musings of homosexual experimentation and solicitations of sex (with minimal effect). A note to herself: inflict pain on the two gentlemen in the previous room when she has the freetime. This was the time to fear for her life, not to wonder if she was going to end up going down on the woman in the next room- _Goddamnit_.

"Boss?" she calls with a nervous(?) lilt in her tone as she knocked. Realizing her mistake, she clears her throat and attempts a more level voice. "It's Viola."

"Yeah, come in," was the muffled reply.

Viola nods to herself as a form of silent reassurement. With a turn of the knob, she crosses the threshold, entering the room in as relaxed and non-chalant a manner as possible. "You called for m- oh my_ god!_"

To put into perspective, the undoubtedly attractive leader of the 3rd Street Saints was laying on her stomach on the plush bed, engrossed in something on her laptop, a bowl of half-finished licorice sticks on the side of the bed.

Also, she was in nothing but a flimsy, sleeveless shirt and a black thong, said latter undergarments prominently displayed for Viola to (ogle)see.

The Boss cranes her head in Viola's direction, full lips upturned into a grin. "What?"

The other woman only had her head turned away, fighting back a rather prominent blush. "Do you always meet with people with your ass displayed like that?"

"Naw," she swings her feet into the air a little, cradling her head onto the palm of her hand. "It's just comfy in these is all."

There was a wink, and it was completely uncalled for, in Viola's opinion. The DeWynter sister can only massage the bridge of her nose in response so that it distracts her from the sight of the Boss's otherwise attention-grabbing state of undress. "Please tell me you called me for something important."

"Well, about that," the scantily-clad woman replies with a playful smile. She rolls onto her back to sit up on the bed, swinging her legs over the edge so as to better face the other woman (with a deliberateness to her movements that served to make Viola more uncomfortable) leaning back on her arms, casually. "A little birdy told me you've been snooping around~"

Though the Boss might have said it without any underlying distrust or threat of punishment, it nonetheless served to have every muscle in Viola's body to tense, a sinking feeling in the pit of her gut. It was suddenly a little difficult to breathe, and the pistol in her back holster was starting to seem tempting.

"Oops?" the woman on the bed only laughs, a hint of something in her tone that makes her shiver. "The Saints own pretty much every Image As Designed here, if you don't recall."

An oversight, and Viola only realized then and there. Was she really so focused on getting information that she would make such a simple mistake? She was getting careless. This wouldn't do. It was clear now that the Boss had the advantage. Hot embarrassment touches her face, as well as apprehension and dread. "What then? Are you here to scold me? Kill me?"

She shrugs, the measely strap of her shirt slipping off her shoulder. "If I was going to kill you, I'd have already done it."

That much was true, and Viola had to begrudgingly admit that even if she were to manage getting her gun, the Boss would have just beat her to it and promptly throw her off the building through the penthouse window. "Then... what?"

"Well, now..."

The Boss stands and begins to saunter over to her, a smirk playing on her features like a hawk ready to sink its claws upon her prey. Her gaze is lidded, a glint in them that hinted at something unmentioned, misted in the tone of her voice, and to speculate on what only made Viola's head swim. The closer she got, the further Viola would back away, only to curse inwardly now that her back was literally to the wall. A hand went to press itself against the wall beside Viola's neck, effectively blocking the way to the door. The woman in nigh but flimsy sleepwear inches towards her, closing the distance that her breath could wash over her skin, and that her face would be shrouded from the light that only the faint glimmer in her eyes was telling and prominent, as was the gleam in her smirk as if a wolf's fangs in the moonlight. Breathing had become voluntary, urgent, the distance between them only so meager that it was stifling in her black turtleneck, her fingers twitching – trembling, words of defiance dying among sharp breaths. What was happening? What was she doing?

Her face is close, dangerously so, and Viola wanted to avoid staring at her eyes or lips, awkwardly shifting her gaze everywhere else (down at her chest, being an exception). The two were silent, moments passing without movement or sound save for the drum of Viola's hearbeat in her ears as they remained in their misleading(?) position. "W-what...?" she stutters against her will, the lack of action now maddening to her.

The Boss moves suddenly, so quickly that she would shut her eyes in fear of what was to come, be it pain or death or warmth or soft lips. Instead, there was nothing but the Boss's deep chuckle against her ear that further twisted at the tightness in her chest.

"I guess I just..." the Boss begins, her voice playing upon Viola's ear in its proximity. "-wanted to see you squirm? Or maybe I want to know why you're so curious?"

The woman backs away from her then, the heat abating just as the Boss renews the distance between them to more appropriate levels. Dazed, it took a few moments for Viola to register the words, the urge to sputter for the her indignance now too great to ignore. "What the **fuck** was **that**?" she spat, the shaking in her voice a little hard to hide.

"You really need to loosen up, Viola," The Boss only stretches in place, disregarding the imminent outburst with a simple yawn. "I think a massage would do you some good. Or sex."

"**What?**"

"Massage. Or sex. Personally, I can do both, and-"

"No. Just... **no**."

"Why not? I'm pretty damned good at it, if I say so myself," and as if to prove her point, she flexes her fingers suggestively, her wink seemingly-less than innocent. It was anyone's guess if she was referring to the massage or the sex.

Viola seethes, her mind a mess of emotions that she chose to focus on the simplest to vent: anger. Screw her being the leader. Screw her inhuman knowledge and capability of inflicting pain and death. Screw her stupid, sexy thonged ass. (wait, no, scratch that last one) Everything be damned, Viola musters as much of her ire as she can to word two things from between grit teeth: "**Fuck. You.**" She turns on her heel, then, heading out the door without another word and slamming the door shut.

"... Well, that was fun," the Boss grins to herself, plopping herself back on the bed to return to her laptop.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes:<strong>

Do not let anyone tell you that college is a breeze and you'll have all the free time in the world to do what you want. They are **LIARS**.

Back to the fanfiction scene to post this story, because I've recently gotten addicted to Saint's Row: The Third. Hopefully, I'll be able to return to my other fics in time, but I'm already coping with a lot of crap from everything else. Do forgive my lack of activity for the past few years.

I'd like to say my writing has improved since my absence, though, but that's really up for debate. Haha.

I don't want to take too many liberties with the name and appearance of the Boss except for the fact that she's a girl in this fic and has the Female Voice 1 personality option from the game. (Laura Bailey's voice is so damned hot, and she's pretty fine looking too.) I figured it would be better if you guys thought up your own face and features for the Boss in this fic seeing as you all might have your own strong preferences as to how she should look. Personally, I went for the default character palette of the asian-looking girl with the black, anime-styled hair. Feel free to tell me if you prefer it still being vague on that matter or if you would like me to give her a definitive appearance.

I hope you all had a happy holidays!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Saints Row: The Third

_**"Compelling"  
><strong>by Chronos Astral_

_**Chapter 2**_

* * *

><p>– <strong>likeaBOSS<strong> is no longer IDLE. -

**likeaBOSS**: sorry bout the delay kinzie  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: i had some company over

**dovahKinz**: Viola?

**likeaBOSS**: howd you know?

**dovahKinz**: I have my ways.

**likeaBOSS**: sometimes you scare me kinz

**dovahKinz**: It's what makes me charming.

**likeaBOSS**: riiiight  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: so back to the game  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: how are all these stupid bandits beating me so easy?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: they're usually no problem

**dovahKinz**: For one, you're aggro'ing multitudes of them at the same time.

**likeaBOSS**: plain english?

**dovahKinz**: You're taking on too many of them at once.

**likeaBOSS**: i should be able to take them!  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: have you seen the muscles on my character? hes a walking tank!

**dovahKinz**: Your character is a mage. His physical appearance has no bearing on his actual capabilities, which are far from physical endurance even if you gave him the body mass of a bear.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: He's a squishy guy who has to be _away_ from the heat of the action to be most effective.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: And your usual "strategy" of rushing in on your own and attempting to attack everything in sight will lead to your inevitable death and scathing remarks on how much of a n00b you are.

**likeaBOSS**: seriously?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: that is so weak

**dovahKinz**: You're the one who insisted on becoming the mage when I suggested you be a warrior, knowing that your preferred playstyle (and general approach to anything you want dead) would be the best parallel for that class.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: But you wanted to be the one that could do all the "flashy" spells. Much as creating a pillar of flame that would consume your enemies in bright red agony would be indulgent catharsis in itself, there's no point to it if they gut you before you can cast it.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: Your character class isn't exactly built to withstand seven bandits simultaneously shanking you.

**likeaBOSS**: wouldnt giving him six pack abs and killer biceps fix that problem?

**dovahKinz**: No.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: Just...  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: No.

**likeaBOSS**: fuck

**dovahKinz**: It's only an aesthetic feature, if anything, so you can change around how your character looks based on your ideal gameworld representative or avatar.

**likeaBOSS**: is that why your character is dressed in a leather bra, has an hourglass figure, and sporting double d boobs?  
>l<strong>ikeaBOSS<strong>: last i checked you were a size b at most

**dovahKinz**: …  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: How do you even know that?

**likeaBOSS**: i have my ways

**dovahKinz**: omg. We are not talking about my breasts.

**likeaBOSS**: im just sayin  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: a size b isnt bad

**dovahKinz**: Please stop talking.**  
>dovahKinz<strong>: Look, I made my character based on personal preference, seeing as its the one thing you'll be seeing pretty much all the time in the game.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: I am not compensating for anything through my character.

**likeaBOSS**: so you _wanted_ to see your character dressed in a leather bra, have an hourglass figure, and sport double d boobs?

**dovahKinz**: …

**likeaBOSS**: and a loincloth?  
>l<strong>ikeaBOSS<strong>: i mean, i know you're into some kinky stuff, but wow kinz  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: you have some specific tastes  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>:not that theyre bad or anything

**dovahKinz**: You know, there's this wonderful thing called 'shame'. You should try it some time. It could do you some good.

**likeaBOSS**: never touched the stuff

**dovahKinz**: Why am I not surprised?

**likeaBOSS**: hey like i said its nothing to be ashamed about  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: hell  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: tell you what ill even dress that way for ya one of these days  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: in private mind you

**dovahKinz**: Oh god no.

**likeaBOSS**: think of it as a bonding experience between us yknow?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: though i dunno if i can fill the leather bra out like your character does

**dovahKinz**: Just kill me now.

**likeaBOSS**: hang on let me just check something

**dovahKinz**: What are you  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: omg  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: Are you squeezing your breasts!

**likeaBOSS**: so i know if they can fill the**  
>likeaBOSS<strong>: how the hell do you know that? can you see me?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: wait  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: did you hack the webcam on my laptop?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: you did didn't you!

**dovahKinz**: You can't prove anythi  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: Did  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: Did you just flash me!

**likeaBOSS**: you dirty little minx  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>:you _are _peeping at me through my webcam!  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: so into voyeurism too kinz?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: if you really wanted to see me in my underwear you couldve asked

**dovahKinz**: No, stop.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: I can explain this.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: I swear to god, this was for surveillance purposes.

**likeaBOSS**: how long has this been going on?

**dovahKinz**: I only set this up today. I swear.

**likeaBOSS**: gotta say this is kind of awkward and a little weird  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: but flattering

**dovahKinz**: Wipe that smirk off you.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: No, seriously. I can still see you. Stop smiling. Don't flatter yourself.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: I did this for surveillance. That's it.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: I am _spying_ on you, not getting off on you in a thong.

**likeaBOSS**: because that makes it _so_ much better  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: seriously what is it with you and viola today?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: i feel like the evil scientist bent on world domination or something  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: and i thought _you_ already knew a lot about me

**dovahKinz**: Call it a whim, I guess?  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: There are some things that databases and information networks can't tell me.

**likeaBOSS**: like how i nearly got it on with viola?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: or how sexy i look in lingerie?

**dovahKinz**: … Nevermind.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: I'll uninstall the program, and we can pretend this never happened. Okay?

**likeaBOSS**: no way this is great!  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: well okay uninstall the program since I dont want you peeping on me 24/7 but we need to capitalize on this

**dovahKinz**: What.

**likeaBOSS**: youre showing an interest in things outside of technology  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: which is my personal life apparently. or my body. either way its something  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: it's nice to know you find me attractive sweetie

**dovahKinz**: Is this about that damn movie again?  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: We were _acting_. We are not, and I quote that stupid movie script, "space lesbians".

**likeaBOSS**: which you agreed to do

**dovahKinz**: For the _money_. I wanted a new terminal to work with.

**likeaBOSS**: i dunno you sounded convincingly lovestruck to me

**dovahKinz**: You are an idiot.

**likeaBOSS**: not what you said when we did that kissing scene

**dovahKinz**: What part of "Let's never speak of this again, ever." did you not understand?

**likeaBOSS**: you seemed pretty into it

**dovahKinz**: Fuck you.

**likeaBOSS**: oh yeah we were actually supposed to  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: fuck i mean  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: in the movie

**dovahKinz**: What!

**likeaBOSS**: the producers had a sex scene planned some time just before the fight on mars  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: there were some problems though mainly getting into contact with you at the time we were supposed to film it  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: that was around the time that game you were waiting for game came out so we figured that was the reason you werent answering the phone for over a week  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: so we brought in a double

**dovahKinz**: _What!_

**likeaBOSS**: yeah  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: she had a nice ass but she wasnt as cute as you  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: we kind of got a little too into it on camera and the director cut us off  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: she gave me her number

**dovahKinz**: Too much information.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: omg  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: Why didn't any of you even tell me!  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: No, on second thought, why even tell me now!  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: I would have been perfectly alright with never finding out about it!

**likeaBOSS**: youre going to be watching the premiere anyway  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: youd have found out eventually so better now than for you to freak out while youre in the movie place

**dovahKinz**: I am _not_ going.  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: It's probably going to be a box office flop anyway.

**likeaBOSS**: ouch why so upset?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: it wasnt even you just a body double  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: or is _that_ the reason youre upset?

**dovahKinz**: What are you even saying!

**likeaBOSS**: did _you_ want to do the sex scene with me?  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: hahahaha

**dovahKinz**: _Fuck._  
><strong>dovahKinz<strong>: _You._

– **dovahKinz** is now OFFLINE. –

**likeaBOSS**: huh  
><strong>likeaBOSS<strong>: dei ja vu

* * *

><p><em>'It's spelled "deja vu". Dumbass.'<em>

Was what Kinzie wanted to type if she didn't want to seem like she'd left in a huff. She did, but only just set her messenger client to appear as if she were offline to her current chatmate. The insufferable scantily-clad woman on the other end of the messaging stream would no doubt take pleasure at drawing more of her ire were she to press the issue further. The entire conversation was embarrassing enough that she dare not add more fuel to the fire. The hacker merely lets out an exhasperated sigh as she leans back on her chair while massaging her brow.

Perhaps she'd brought this upon herself, was her passing thought. It was her initiative to invite the Boss to chat with her, for whatever reason that compelled her to, even though said woman made for a small migraine of a conversation. A fact Kinzie would not care to admit was that it had become something of a routine for them to chat about something mundane or other, with the occasional pinch of absurdity that only someone as eccentric as the Boss could muster with an air of casualness. For whatever reason, it had become a tolerable change in her everyday, worming its way into what was once the part of her mind that derived pleasure from social interaction, however slight, inane, or somewhat irritating.

_'I had pancakes.'_ Those seemed to be the words that had started it all. She had actually gone _outside _for once, out of her 'Inner Sanctum', to eat pancakes. Granted, it was one of the most mundane things to have chosen to do, easy enough that they could be bought and eaten so close to her place, and nevermind her normal routine of eating whatever microwavable foodstuff or effortlessly prepared meal that was sitting in her fridge. Nonetheless, it was new, an escape from routine that the socially-repressed young woman had ensconced herself in.

Kinzie didn't know why the first person she would talk to about it would be the Boss. She didn't even know why she had done it in the first place, or why even felt the need to tell someone. Thinking on it, it was a silly thing to even admit. It was not as if she had something to prove to anyone, that maybe she might not have been as much a recluse as she seemed. She was never bothered by the way she chose to live, and she never truly cared for the opinion of others. Nobody was as good at her job as she was. Everybody in the Saints -in all of Steelport knew it, acknowledged it, and she was content with that. Why ever feel the need to be something else or to give the impression that she _could_ go out to do something that didn't involve helping the Saints? And why tell the Boss?

The question nagged at her unanswered as she continued to regale the Boss with stories of going out to buy alcohol (untouched in a cupboard) and calling Viola just to say "Hi." It all seemed to please the Boss, or at the least amuse her, and without fail she would encourage Kinzie to attempt something beyond what she was comfortable with. Baby steps, she would tell the Boss. All the same, the woman's seeming approval was like a strange motivation to the introvert. She found herself exploring possibilities to things outside her home, the once frightening outside world now just a little less terrible as she thought. Why now, though? Why leave the comfort? Why risk it? And why did the Boss seem to care so much?

She recalls the conversation they just had and a sudden thought disturbs her when the image of Viola pinned to the wall is conjured from her memory, with Viola mysteriously sporting brown hair and glasses suspiciously similar to a certain agoraphobic hacker.

"... I need a drink."

With another sigh of irritation, she kicks off with her rolling chair towards the direction of her fridge, letting the wheels of the chair do the walking for her. Practice has made the art of using her momentum to both stop her forward movement and open the fridge door at the same time a nigh effortless performance on her part. She fishes a juicebox from within the cold confines of her fridge, half-empty and approaching its expiry date (good enough). The girl wastes no time in taking a sip, artificial grape wetting her parched mouth. A mental note is made to buy more juice (preferably of a different brand).

Kinzie looks off to the side, an unlit monitor offering her darkened reflection for her to view. Her hair was a tousled mess of amber, haphazardly tucked into a messy bun, frazzled bangs framing the sides of her face and covering some of her eye. Her glasses were practically relics, chipped and smudged at the sides of the lens. Hers was a face untouched by cosmetics, the subtlest of marked skin easily concealed with a touch of makeup lay bare for any to see.

Once upon a time, Kinzie Kensington was a girl like any other, wanting to be 'normal'. A few years of trying and failing, she gave the idea a thankless "fuck you" and decided that 'normal' was overrated and beauty was stupid. Other girls could preen before mirrors and talk about their crushes all they liked. All she needed was technology, unbiased and unfeeling. It was perfection.

She bites her lip and weighed one bang of hair experimentally with her finger. She tucks it behind one ear and cranes her neck to see the how she looked. In her opinion, not bad, and Kinzie allows herself a tiny smile. Proof that she _could_ care about her appearance and _could_ be pretty if she wanted.

And she wonders if the double that the Boss fucked was more attractive than her.

**but she wasnt as cute as you**

**did _you_ want to do the sex scene with me?**

A splutter and a coughing fit later, grape juice was sprayed across the legs of her torn jeans whilst she tried not to choke on the remnant fluid by coughing into her fist.

"Ugh."

She groans in frustration, the heat on the sides of her face merely a soreness from the coughing (or so she assumed). Aggresively, she kicks herself over to her terminal to keep busy, bespectacled eyes occupying themselves with readings off monitors and her mind trying desperately to battle away thoughts of a smirking, thong-clad, sexy bitch of a woman.

The readings indicated a transfer of data had been detected from within the Saints secure channel. It was a video, by the look of it, with 'bossandshaundi' as its filename, being retrieved from an outside database that appeared to belong to Pierce. Curious to know what it had to do with the Boss, Kinzie tracks the feed and creates a duplicate stream to her own secured network, now downloading the video for her to view in just a few minutes. The wait wasn't long.

The video loads onto one of the larger monitors for better viewing and opens with the shot of what appeared to be the foot of a bed. The face of a woman appears in view of the camera, evidently flushed and giddy from alcohol. It took a moment to recongnize her as an inebriated Shaundi, a little younger than the one Kinzie knew of this day. Shaundi wobbles away from the camera, grinning with drunken contentment and wearing what appears to be clothing that could technically be considered a top were it not made of just enough fabric to pass as a handkerchief. She attempts to pull someone off-screen, which Kinzie had correctly guessed to be the Boss, looking thankfully more sober, but no less mischievous with her come-hither smirk. Shaundi appears to push the other woman down to the bed, gasping audibly when her supposed victim only pulls her down with her, the two engaging in a heated exchange of lips and tongues. Were the nature of the video not clear enough to Kinzie at this point, the two make a show of undressing one another, slowly and deliberately, mouths pressed to skin, hands groping feverishly and giddily at mounds of flesh now free of cloth.

To her horror, Kinzie finds herself engrossed in every dip and curve of the Boss's body as it writhes against that of the inebriated Saints liutenant. The woman's smile was something else entirely, hungry and fierce as if about to devour Shaundi, and devour they did when teeth would meet the junction of neck, and the amber-haired onlooker suppresses a shiver when Shaundi squeals in delight, a foreign heat churning inside of Kinzie as she continued to watch. The two women on-screen have at each other, the Boss clearly in control when she all but has her subordinate hoarse from producing all manner of noises from the pit of her throat. It was at this point that Kinzie finds her hand twitching upon her thigh, itching to relieve the heat that had been pooling within. She was no stranger to it, the guilty pleasures of a late night video from a sleazy website with ads about dick enlargement and local girls wanting a good fuck, but words and images play into her mind courtesy of the elusive boss of the 3rd Street Saints in conjunction with the actions of said boss on the screen, and each deliberate movement only seems to magnify the familiar twitch in Kinzie's hand as it made its way to the button of her jeans.

It was for a few seconds that the Boss would look directly at the camera, a piercing, half-lidded gaze that almost seemed directed at the now-flushed amber-haired girl.

"Oh my god..."

Her fingers were already working at the button of her jeans, when the ring of her phone stops her short. She gasps at the interruption, realizing then what she was about to do. Panicked, she takes the offending hand away from her pants to stop the video feed. Still flushed and confused, the girl fumbles for her phone while turning away from the screen, breathing in deep as if she'd forgotten how just a few moments ago.

"H-Hello?" she speaks into the receiver.

"Agent Kensington," the woman on the other line starts, her voice belonging to no other than Viola DeWynter. "Are you busy? I'd like to ask a few things from you,"

Kinzie turns to the video screen for a moment, the stilled picture of two women locked in a rather compromising position greeting her. The girl hastily closes the screen before her eyes would attempt to memorize the curve of the Boss's backside. Again. "No. Definitely not busy. At all."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Well, that's the first time I've ever published anything that graphic, though it's not that much. Ahem.

Might edit this a little later because I'm posting this around 4am. Oops. Where did my priorities go?

Leave a review, if you like!


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